


Hunger

by fictitiousLiterate



Series: Hunger [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Adelard Dekker (mentioned) - Freeform, Alive!Danny Stoker (mentioned), Canon Asexual Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Consensual Blood Drinking, Gen, Gerry Keay - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jonah Magnus (mentioned), M/M, Major Character Death (In a Dream), Not Beta Read, Parental Death, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vampire AU, Vampire Jon, Vampire Sasha, gertrude robinson - Freeform, implied/referenced past emotional manipulation, it's not a big part of the work but I need you to know that he is, it's not a metaphor for capitalism i swear, jon is weird about it because of his Tragic Backstory (tm), jonmartin meet-cute, martin blackwood's mother (briefly), martin sells his blood to his friends for money, namely by martin's mother, rated m because things may get violent later on, trans Sasha (it isn't mentioned at all), vampire tim, vampire typical blood and biting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictitiousLiterate/pseuds/fictitiousLiterate
Summary: Martin Blackwood is a professional poet and knitter, but to make ends meet he lets the occasional vampire take a bite. One specific vampire has piqued Martin's interest.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Series: Hunger [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877170
Comments: 106
Kudos: 360





	1. Martin Meets Jon

To say Martin Blackwood had an unusual job was the understatement of the century. On paper, he was the self-published author of a collection of poetry, knitted on commission, and worked as an assistant at the Robinson Institute, an organization that handled collections and investigations of occult phenomena. What he actually did for the Robinson Institute was sell his blood to vampires who cared about things like the well being of who they feed on and consent. It wasn’t a bad gig, all told. Typically most feeding took place at the Institute to ensure the safety of everyone involved, but he had a few regulars who paid to make house calls. Strictly speaking, these tended to be perceived as less professional as it often led to someone being enthralled, but neither of his regulars seemed to be that interested in him. A thrall was, at least in the vampiric circle Martin was familiar with, just someone like Martin except more exclusive and planned to become a vampire. The Institute only let him be fed on once a week and the pay was enough to cover his mother’s bills, so for all intents and purposes, it was better than every other job he worked in his life with the bonus that all the blood-sucking was done upfront. 

Normally at the beginning of the week, Martin would text his regulars, Tim Stoker and Sasha James to give them first dibs on his blood. This week was different because Sasha was out of town and Tim had begun courting a potential thrall. So this week Martin came into the Institute and sat in one of the “reading rooms” waiting for a vampire named Jonathan Sims to take a bite. He’d never actually met Mr. Sims in person before, but like many of the vampires who used the Robinson Institute’s services, he worked there. Tim had once described him as a “nice chap, even nicer if he got that stick out of his ass,” so Martin wasn’t too worried. Martin did get a little worried when the vampire in question came into the room, not because he seemed dangerous, but because he was Martin’s type to a “t.” He was dressed like an 80-year-old librarian and had his hair up in a messy bun all of which screamed _messy academic_. That was all fine, though, Martin could be professional, totally.

“Hello, I’m here for the uh…” Jon began before finishing like he was saying a dirty word, “the feeding.”

“Hi, I’m Martin Blackwood and you must be Jonathan Sims, good to meet you,” Martin answered, extending his hand to shake Jon’s.

“Right, let’s get this over with, shall we?” Jon asks, motioning for Martin to sit down. “I assume you’re fine with me biting your wrist?”

“I don’t mind either of the usual places, really,” Martin replies conversationally. The cool academic tone is not great for the beginnings of a crush he can feel forming.

“Right, well tell me if you become uncomfortable, Mr. Blackwood.”

“You can call me Marti-ah.” It’s the brief flash of pain before the chemicals in Jon’s spit tell Martin’s body to enjoy the feeding that cuts Martin off. Jon pauses and looks up at Martin with bright red eyes, waiting to be told to _stop_. “It’s fine, please continue.”

Martin is used to having the vampires feeding off him worried about his safety, but Jonathan is different. For one thing, he cradles Martin’s wrist and hand like he could shatter it at any moment while being so gentle it takes nearly twice the time. For another, Martin is fairly certain Jon didn’t drink as much as people usually drink from him.

“Are you sure that’s enough?” Martin asks tentatively while Jonathan takes a bottle of orange juice out of the minifridge for Martin.

“I’m perfectly capable of listening to my own body’s hunger Mr-er-Martin, thank you,” Jon answers shortly. “Is fruit juice and a pack of cookies all you need after that?”

“I’m also perfectly capable, Mr. Sims.” Martin answers before taking a swing of juice.

“I _drank your life’s blood_ ,” Jonathan says it like more dirty words. “I think I have every right to worry and please, call me Jon.”

“Thank you for your concern, Jon, but I’m used to this,” Martin reassured and Jon huffs a little.

“At least let me make sure you’re healing properly,” Jon sighs, opening his palm for Martin to place his wrist inside. He runs his fingers over the closed scabs and inspects them closely. Vampire bites heal faster than normal injuries so it already looks like an old wound. Jon seems satisfied and they part ways shortly afterward. Martin immediately texts Tim.

 **Martin:** Guess who I just met?  


**Tim:** the queen  


**Martin:** Your boss  


**Tim:** at work?  


**Martin:** Yeah, it was weird. Jon was nervous about the whole thing and I’m pretty sure he under drank  


**Tim:** cant say ive ever seen him drink from a living thing  


**Tim:** no clue what thats about  


**Tim:** im pretty sure hes older than me so idk why hes like that  


**Tim:** omg u both txt the same  


**Tim:** u txt like an old old man, marto  


**Martin:** I don’t think he likes me much  


**Tim:** hes txting me rn  


**Tim:** should i ask???  


**Tim:** “hey, marto says you didnt like his blood wtf???”  


**Martin:** Tim, do not.  


**Martin:** Tim, answer me  


**Martin:** Tim, I’m being unprofessional enough telling you about this  


**Tim:** relax marto i just got distracted  


**Tim:** omg if this is unprofesh  


**Tim:** do you and sasha talk shit about my blood sucking?  


**Martin:** If you acted nervous while tounging my wrist I would  


**Tim:** i might now that i kno ur into it ;)  


**Martin:** I will tell Sasha about it out of context  


**Tim:** ur an evil mastermind ily ttyl  


**Martin:** Talk to you later, Tim

That didn’t give Martin any clue about the handsome, uptight vampire that had come in to drink from him. Tim was right though, Jon did seem to have a stick up his ass.


	2. Jon meets Martin (and buys him tea)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon decides he's been away from live human blood for long enough. His wonderful friends direct him to someone who is way too nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to sleepingbetweenthetrees on Tumblr for the kickass name of Martin's poetry book

Jon really hated drinking from live people. He preferred his blood to come in a heated up mug, thank you. Unfortunately, his dietary habits had him feeding more frequently than his human drinking companions. Fortunately, he worked for an institute for vampires who saw humans as people and paid them to have vampires feed on them. When that idea had been introduced to him he imagined a dimly lit room where some poor person writhed and moaned for him to bite them. It made his stomach turn if he was completely honest. He had since had it explained to him since then that the majority were happy to be fed on weekly for a nice sum in a well-lit office space with some exceptions in the form of house calls if a human felt they could trust a vampire. A weekly feeding schedule did fit his work goals better than a daily one, so he asked his coworkers for advice. 

“Tim, Sasha, I need advice,” he asked one evening in the archives. “Who of the Institute’s Assistants do you think I would get on with?”

“We don’t know all of them, Jon,” Sasha answered. “But one Tim and I like is Martin Blackwood. He’s a sweetheart.

“Oh, Martin is great. He’ll be totally cool with your whole… thing” Tim said, gesturing to the entirety of Jon.

So here Jon was, going to his appointment with said Martin Blackwood. He had filled himself up with old blood beforehand mostly out of fear of going too far. If he did, he would be stopped by the vampire who nods at him on his way in.

He didn’t know what he imagined Martin to look like but big and soft with a handsome face and gentle eyes wasn’t it. He’s so friendly the entire interaction and Jon doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s worse when he asks after Jon’s well being. Martin had just happily opened a vein for Jon but he was asking after Jon’s appetite. It was weird. He had to text Tim and Sasha about this.

 **Jon:** I had a session with Martin Blackwood today

 **Sasha:** how did it go?

 **Jon:** Fine, but he does know we are the ones who are supposed to be taking care of him, right?

 **Tim:** did our marto offer u a cuppa?

 **Tim** told u he was sweet

 **Jon:** No, he just asked if I had eaten enough? Then he got weird when I asked if he was ok

 **Sasha:** that’s our martin. we need to hold you both down to make you care about yourselves. match made in heaven

 **Tim:** o yeah, wasnt he handsome jon?

 **Tim:** do u want to send him smelly letters sealed in wax or w/e u did in the old times?

 **Jon:** I genuinely don’t know what to say to that

 **Sasha:** that’s not what i meant and you know it, tim

 **Jon:** Thank you, Sasha

 **Sasha:** you have my blessing to court him, though

 **Jon:** I hate you both

The next time Jon meets Martin is two weeks after their first meeting. It’s in the same room and Martin is waiting for him, as pleasant as always.

“Good evening, Martin,” Jon says, clipped and professional.

“Good evening, Jon,” Martin answers. “Is everything alright?”

No, everything was not alright. Jon had been so preoccupied with work that he forgot to pre-feed before meeting Martin. It _should_ be fine, but Jon wasn’t entirely sure he could trust himself. If he was more reasonable he would cancel but it would be rude to stand up Martin at such short notice. So here he was, being offered Martin’s wrist with hunger stirring in his belly.

“Yes, thank you,” he answers instead. “Would you mind...telling me how it feels when I drink? It’s for research.”

“Um...yeah,” Martin agrees easily enough. Jon gently bites into Martin’s wrist, watching him carefully.

“It’s starting to feel good, actually,” Martin says after a sharp intake of breath. “The initial bite hurt, obviously and now my arm is starting to feel cold. Sort of? It’s not a bad feeling just strange. I don’t know if you ever gave blood while you were alive but it’s not that much different that. Oh, except my body _likes_ this more. It’s sort of a warm buzz. Your hands are starting to warm up, too. You look really nice, actually. Er...”

Jon finishes up shortly after that, feeling much more sated than he did the first time he fed from Martin. It was nice hearing how Martin was doing, although that last bit had still been surprising, but understandable given that nature of feeding meant the one being fed on was more predisposed to look on the one feeding favorably.

“Sorry...I didn’t mean…” Martin says while Jon hands him juice.

“I’m the one who asked you to talk,” Jon reassures. “I should have expected some kind of reaction. How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed.”

“I meant about the feeding, Martin,” Jon asks sharply.

“Oh, fine I guess,” Martin replies in that infuriatingly jovial tone of his. “A little bit cold but a cup of tea will sort me out.”

“I can buy you one,” Jon replies. “Just let me get my coat.”

“You don’t have to…” Martin begins when Jon’s eyes narrow. “Ok, just give me a minute to get my bearings again.”

“Do you feel dizzy at all or just cold?” Jon asks, sitting back down across from Martin.

“I’m a little light-headed but I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes. You didn’t take too much,” Martin answers. He shouldn’t be reassuring Jon like this.

“How would you know?” Jon presses. “Unless someone _has_ taken too much.”

“Because the wonderful people out there” Martin replies, pointing to the door. “Can hear if my heart picks up that little bit if it loses too much too fast. Did no one tell you that?”

“They did,” Jon sighs. “How can you be ok with this?” 

“I don’t know...I just like to take care of people, I guess. What’s taking more care than feeding them, right? Plus it’s not a bad gig. I get paid weekly and the institute makes sure I’m ok,” Martin answers. “You don’t have to worry. I am an adult.”

"Sorry, it wasn’t my intention to patronize,” Jon apologizes. “The offer is still open for that cup of tea. As a thank you for letting me do this.”

The walk from the Institute to the nearby cafe is uneventful. Jon keeps his gaze locked on Martin for any signs of wooziness but none come. Jon lets Martin order first; then he orders something cheap and small for himself before paying for both of them and sitting at a table to await their orders.

“So, I hear you work at the Archives with Tim and Sasha,” Martin begins conversationally. “What’s that like?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Jon replies and Martin blinks in confusion. “The friendliness isn’t part of it.”

“It is if you’re with me,” Martin says firmly. That makes sense, then. Sasha and Tim had directed him not to the person who he would get along with the most, but the one they thought he needed.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated,” Jon responds tersely. _Of course_ Martin would be friendly to everyone else, but he was somehow missing that Jon was generally unlikable.

“You’re right, Jon, friendliness _isn’t_ part of it, but you and I have mutual friends so I figured maybe we could be, too,” Martin replies. Jon is about to reply when the barista calls his name. He goes to pick up the order before Martin can and when he comes back Martin has his phone out.

“Speaking of mutual friends do you mind if Sasha comes and joins us?” He asks, looking up from his phone. “She just got back from Wales.”

“Sure,” Jon replies, sitting down with the drink he had no intention of drinking. Keeping up appearances was good but he hated dealing with the after effects of consuming food meant for the living.

“Actually, while I have my phone out, do you mind giving me your number?”

“Why would you…?”

“I-if you want to make these “readings” a regular thing, that is,” Martin elaborates, his face growing red. “Easier than going through Rosie every time.”

“Right, they would still be at the institute, though,” Jon replies. He didn’t trust himself feeding alone. Sure, plenty of vampires were fine but he...wasn’t willing to risk it. So he gave Martin his number before Sasha came in.

“Gentlemen,” Sasha says, all smiles and hugs, “how are you two getting on?”

“Just awful,” Martin replies solemnly. “Jon ordered himself a _coffee_ , can you believe it?”

“I can’t believe it Jon, and here I thought you and Martin would get along,” Sasha replies grinning.

“Is there some kind of tea drinker versus coffee drinker battle I’m unaware of?”

“No, but Martin would’ve taken the extra tea,” Sasha answers, opening her bag and handing a box to Martin. He opened it to show off a mug in the shape of a mammal.

“It’s perfect! Thank you, Sasha.”

“I knew you would like it, it’s a pine marten” Sasha replies. Then she turns to Jon conspiratorily, “That’s the secret to Martin’s affection, buy him animal mugs.”

“So, Martin,” Jon sighs, if he was hell-bent on being friends then he might as well get to know Martin. “Other than assistant work and mug collecting, what do you do in your spare time?”

“Oh, um, I have an Esty,” Martin begins. “I don’t know if you know what that is but it’s basically an online storefront. I usually just make scarves but I get commissioned to do blankets some times, too.”

That would explain why Martin seemed to have the pervasive smell of yarn about him at all times. Probably not all times but it is hard not to smell a person’s hands when one is mouthing at their wrist. Sasha was asking Martin how business was going and from to sound of it he was used to a drop in sales during the warmer months. Then she asked Martin about his book.

“You have a book?” Jon askes, breaking back into the conversation.

“Uh...yeah, just some poetry I wrote. It’s called _Lost Refrain_ ,” Martin says sheepishly.

If Jon was completely honest with himself, and he was, he didn’t like poetry. Too many convoluted metaphors and pointless rhyme schemes. So he has no clue why he says, “I’ll have to check it out sometime.”


	3. Martin has his poetry read and teaches Jon Cluedo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon says he likes Martin's poetry book and is still as weird about feeding from him as ever, the great quest between the archival trio to discover one another's age continues, and Jon has never played a game that came out in 1947.

The thing about publishing a poetry book about being gay, trans, and having a complex relationship with one’s mother is that people you know in real life will read it and find out about your being gay, trans, and in possession of mommy issues. The point is: when Martin came into his next appointment to find Jon reading _Lost Refrain_ it was more than a little disquieting. Not because he thought Jon would be homophobic or transphobic, but because having your burgeoning crush look right at the softest parts of your heart was A Lot. It didn’t help that Jon had a sour expression on his face while reading and didn’t look up when Martin came into the room.

“Uh...reading anything good?” Martin asks as casually as he can manage.

“Good evening, Martin,” Jon replies in a tone Martin can only describe as professorial. “I picked up a paper copy of your book today. Well, I ordered it online and it finally came in this evening. So far I’m enjoying it. I can tell you like Keats.”

“Oh, er...thanks,” Martin replies. “Do you want me to tell you how I feel while you feed again?”

“I’m only giving praise earned, Martin. Yes, if you don’t mind.”

Jon sunk his teeth into Martin’s wrist with the same nervous care as the previous two times.

“It’s more of the same, sharp bite, cold tingles, and a warm buzz. It’s hard to describe it’s almost like being drunk? Well, tipsy,” He explains. “It...uh… also feels like you’re drinking slower than the others. It’s nice actually. Feels like you want to make sure I’m good.”

Jon pauses and looks up when Martin stammers. Those red eyes boring into him is an experience. He almost says something before Jon pulls away slowly.

“I do want to make sure you’re good,” Jon says while Martin munches on some cookies. “Actually, there is something I’m curious about.” He was going to ask about the poetry. “What does “K” stand for?”

Not the question he was expecting. Maybe some weird questions about his personal life or his transition. He found that vampires, namely Sasha, liked to ask kind of invasive questions sometimes. Jon was much more polite in his question.

“It doesn’t stand for anything,” Martin answers. “I just thought it sounded more like a real author’s name. You know? I don’t actually have a legal middle name, because I hadn’t chosen one when I got my name legally changed. After that...middle names are hard to pick, so I kind of didn't bother.”

“Ah,” Jon says eloquently. “Sorry if that was an invasive question.”

“It was a totally valid question,” Martin reassures. “Can I ask kind of a weird question?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jon answers. “If I don’t like it I just won’t answer.”

“Did you know Keats?”

“I didn’t run in the same circles as the romantic poets, no.”

“Oh well, did you know anyone famous?”

“No one I’d like to talk about.” Jon says curtly enough that Martin mentally marks the subject as “Do Not Explore.”

“Tim swears he’s kissed Lord Byron,” he says in an attempt to veer the subject away.

“Tim is far too young to have kissed Byron,” Jon snorts. “It may be rude to speculate on someone’s age but Tim is probably the youngest of the three of us by at least 50 years. Now, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you,” Martin replies, showing Jon his wrist.

“Oh, wonderful. Please text me when you get home.”

Another strange thing about Jon was that he obstinately refused to be totally alone with Martin. The walk to the cafe was busy enough but the movie night at Sasha’s had Jon standing around outside the building before she let the two of them in. Jon always wanted to know if Martin had gotten home safely, but didn’t want to walk him himself. Martin didn’t want to pry but it was still strange. He did have something he absolutely could pry about with their mutual friends.

 **Martin:** Tim, your ass got called out!!!

 **Tim:** idk what jon said but it was a lie

 **Martin:** He told me you were youngest by at least 50 years

 **Sasha:** ah, but have you figured out the mystery of jon’s age?

 **Tim:** he just thinks im a baby b/c hes older than time

 **Martin:** He also said it because you were full of it about Byron

 **Tim:** hes just jealous b/c he was off doing library stuff in 1907

 **Sasha:** tim, byron died in the mid 1800’s

 **Tim:** fuck

 **Martin:** Guys, Jon is reading my poetry. He says he likes it

 **Tim:** i knew hed like you

 **Martin:** Pretty sure he doesn’t?

 **Sasha:** don’t worry, he just takes a while to warm up

Speaking of Jon, Martin was finally at his flat so he texts Jon.

 **Martin:** Made it home safe and sound. Let me know when you do the same

 **Jon:** Thank you, Martin. Do you still feel fine? I can get Sasha or Tim to come and check on you if you need.

 **Jon:** Not to imply you can’t take care of yourself. I know you know your own body.

 **Martin:** I’m getting the impression these check-ups are for your peace of mind as well, so it’s fine. I feel back to 100%, thank you.

 **Jon:** Do Tim and Sasha not check on you?

 **Jon:** I have a long night ahead of me at the archive, but I’ll text you when I get home.

 **Martin:** They do. They just don’t ask as...intensly as you do? I don’t know how to explain it. You’re fine now that I know you aren’t being deliberately patronizing

 **Martin:** By the way, Sasha was coming over for a session next Monday and usually we do a game night at mine afterward. Do you want to join us? Sasha and Tim will both be there

Martin watches the ellipses start and stop for several minutes before Jon answers

 **Jon:** That sounds like fun. I would love to come.

Feeding with Sasha was very different than feeding with Jon. Namely, she tended to go for the neck because it took less time. She had once confessed to enjoying the feeling of cuddling Martin as well. Martin wouldn’t begrudge her that, especially since often the only time he was getting held was when he was getting fed on. That was absolutely not something he should maybe talk to someone about. No siree.

When Sasha finished she started plating up food from the take-out she bought on the way to Martin’s flat. She had definitely bought enough for several people but Martin knew he’d be the only one eating it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to cook for himself. It’s just that she took one look at all of his ready meals and canned peaches, and decided to treat him when she came over.

“What are you writing?” She asks, handing Martin his plate and a sports drink.

“Jon has been asking me how our sessions feel, for research,” Martin explains. “I forgot to ask if he wanted info, but it couldn’t hurt to jot some things down for him, right?”

“I suppose not,” Sasha replies, eyebrows raise in a voice that sounded _very_ unsure.

Martin eats away while Sasha sets up Cluedo for everyone else. One of these days he was going to have to introduce them to games that weren’t nearly 100 years old, but first he would have to find some that vampires couldn’t cheat at like Jenga. On the bright side, it was totally possible Jon had never played Cluedo, so it would be fun watching him learn the rules. Eventually there’s a knock at the door which Martin opens to Tim and Jon. Tim hugs him as he walks in. Leaving Jon to stand at the threshold looking at Martin expectantly.

“Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “Jon, I welcome you into my home.”

“Please don’t welcome me indefinitely,” Jon says stiffly.

“Then you’re welcome here until this game night is over,” Martin corrects. “Does that sound better?”

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon responds with surprising softness. The softness doesn’t help Martin’s crush.

“Come on in, boss,” Tim calls from further into the flat.

“Oh, before I forget, I wrote out my experience with Sasha.” Jon looks at him in confusion. “For your research.”

“Ah, right, thank you, Martin,” Jon nods awkwardly.

“Ooo, what are you researching, boss?” Tim asks, hanging off Jon to get a look at what Martin wrote.

“Nothing that concerns you, Tim,” Jon replies tersely. It’s good to know he’s prickly with everyone. “What game are we playing?”

It turns out Jon somehow hadn’t heard of Cluedo. Which meant that Tim tried to make up rules, Sasha was meticulously calculating Jon’s age based on that information, and Martin was going to try his damnedest to _actually_ show Jon how to play.

“So Tim, how is your new thrall going?” Jon asks eventually while Sasha is taking her turn (or trying to come up with something historically inaccurate to say to try and guess Jon or Tim’s age by how they correct her.)

“Turns out eternity wasn’t his thing,” Tim sighs.

“You should have promised a divine host, I hear that gets them,” Martin jokes and feels himself bloom when Jon chuckles.

“No, no, it’s the threat of the other thing that gets people,” Jon corrects with a smirk.

“I can’t light my dates on fire, Jon, it’s bad for my image.”

“Arson is a perfectly romantic date idea,” Martin replies.

“Will you nerds be quiet, I’m trying to pin this on Ms. Peacock,” Sasha eventually snaps.

They play a few games of Cluedo before heading out. Martin gets hugs from Tim and Sasha and a firm handshake from Jon


	4. Jon has a very bad dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a nightmare, texts Martin, and changes his diet ft Everyone's favorite goth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say a bad dream I do mean this is part of why the M rating is there.

Martin is as warm and soft as Jon imagined him being. They’re laying horizontal on Martin’s sofa and Jon reaches up to feed from Martin’s neck. His blood is hot and thrumming against Jon’s tongue while Martin shudders under him. Martin’s neck doesn’t smell much different than his hands, maybe more like tea and less like yarn. He takes a deep draw from Martin just to hear a pleased little noise come up from his mouth. It’s clear Martin is enjoying it...until he’s not. First, he’s squirming like he’s trying to get Jon off of him and he’s tugging Jon’s hair. Jon feels himself instinctually tighten his grip on Martin, burying his hands in Martin’s back. Distantly, he knows he should let go, but Martin’s blood is so intoxicating he can’t stop. Martin’s squirming becomes violent thrashing and he’s pushing at Jon’s shoulders and begging.

“Jon stop, please,” Martin’s voice comes out strained. “It hurts, you’re hurting me, please.”

Jon growls at him and his body refuses to stop.

“I’m sorry, whatever I did,” Martin whimpers, as his struggling decreases. “I’m sorry, don’t hurt me. I don’t want to die, please Jon. I thought I could trust you.”

Martin stills beneath him and Jon finally lets up. He knows what he’ll see when he looks up, but he has to. Martin’s kind face is devoid of warmth and frozen in a mask of pain and betrayal; his eyes blank, empty of their spark.

Jon wakes up and immediately runs to the bathroom. Generally speaking, vampires didn’t throw up, but a nightmare like that was enough to make anyone dry heave into their toilet while sobbing. He should have known better. His subconscious clearly did, if he was around Martin alone… he couldn’t be trusted. Jon shouldn’t be drinking from a living person; no matter what his fucking schedule looked like. Losing control and _hurting_ Martin would be too much to bear, let alone...let alone his nightmare.

He had to hear Martin’s voice. He couldn’t go back to sleep with his last words ringing in his mind. His phone said it was around 1 PM which meant he wouldn’t be waking up Martin just to bother him.

“Jon, is everything ok?”

Jon almost sobbed again imagining Martin’s eyebrows knitting together in worry and his mouth turning down in a frown. Alive and healthy. You can’t see Martin’s dimples when he frowns, only when he smiles, but that upturn is still _possible_.

“Ye-yeah, everything is fine. I just...had a nightmare and I wanted to make sure you were ok.” Jon says hoarsely.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just sitting around writing poetry, you know…. You don’t think it was prophetic, do you?”

_Not if I can help it._

“No, just….you got hurt and I wanted to hear your voice. Sorry to bother you.”

“I don’t mind. Do you want me to come over?”

“ _NO!_ ” Jon yells, an edge of panic in his voice. Even the thought of being alone...no, he couldn’t be trusted.

“Right, sorry. You can talk about it if you want. Or I can just stay on the line until you fall back asleep?”

“I would appreciate that...The staying on the line, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“I can read you something from my library if you want.”

Well, poetry that wasn’t Martin’s would certainly put him to sleep.

“Thank you, Martin. I’ll put you on speakerphone.”

Jon falls back asleep and dreams of walking in a sunlit meadow with Martin. When he wakes up he texts Martin.

 **Jon:** Martin, I wanted to thank you for your concern for me this afternoon. I have done some re-examining of myself and decided that the professional aspect of our relationship must cease immediately. This is by no means a poor reflection on yourself and I hope we can still be friends.

 **Martin:** Are you sure you’re alright? You sounded pretty upset earlier.

 **Martin:** Of course we can still be friends. Even if you pretended not to know what Cluedo was so you could beat me.

 **Jon:** I’m alright, thank you.

 **Jon:** I swear it was just dumb luck

Another service the Robinson Institute offers, and one Jon prefers really, is the selling of pre-drawn blood. Humans come in, are paid for their blood, and never have to talk to a vampire like Jon. On the weeks he wasn’t with Martin he was still feeding on daily blood from a cup, anyway, but he needed to increase the amount he used now that he was back on old blood only.

“Good evening Gerry,” Jon says to the attendant of the blood bank with familiar eyes. When Jon first met the goth vampire with the eye tattoos on his knuckles he had balked and probably made a very bad impression. It didn’t help that he had no intentions to disclose _why_ the shape and color of Gerry’s eyes unsettled him so.

“Hey Jon, what’s up?” Gerry greets him pleasantly enough.

“I need to return to my original quantity for blood, please.”

“Are things not working out with Martin?”

“No, Martin’s fine, wonderful actually,” Jon hastily corrects. “I just decided that I prefer old blood, is all.”

“Uhuh,” Gerry replies, getting out the paper work out for Jon to look over and sign. “You know before he got comfortable with the whole live feeding thing he used to come in here to give blood the old fashioned way. I guess new-fashioned from your perspective.”

“Certainly _the_ fashion.”

“Right. Anyway, he knitted me my favorite scarf a couple of winters ago,” Gerry continues. “If someone decides to properly enthrall him and make him one of us I can’t imagine the stuff he’ll knit and poems he’ll write in a couple of decades.”

“Yeah,” Jon replies signing his name on each form accordingly. _That’s why I can’t risk him_

“Alright Jon, your blood-in-a-mug will be back to its regular delivery by tomorrow at the latest, take care.”

“You, too.”

Speaking of Martin, Jon’s phone lit up on the way down to the archive to inform him of a text from the human.

 **Martin:** What should I tell Tim and Sasha?

 **Martin:** They know I’m available next week when I wasn’t before so they know something is up. What should I say to them?

 **Jon:** Tell them I’m trying to hide my shame for cheating at Cluedo

 **Martin:** I’m serious

 **Jon:** Sorry

 **Jon:** Tell them to ask me. I’m going to see them soon, anyway

 **Martin:** Don’t think I didn’t catch your admission of guilt at the Cluedo thing


	5. Martin has insecurities and it's movie night at Jon's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin feels weird about how Jon is being weird, Tim gets the gang into Jon's apartment, and Sasha drops some hot historic goss that she may or may not have been there for.

Over the course of the several weeks after his afternoon phone call, Jon acted even more strangely around Martin. He had stopped all physical contact, was at least 3 feet away from Martin at all times, and _refused_ to be on the same couch as him. It didn’t help that he continued to not want to be alone in a room with Martin. Jon had said it wasn’t a poor reflection on Martin, but what else could it be? Unless Jon was sick and afraid Martin would catch something? As he understood it vampires couldn’t get sick, so he must have done something wrong. He couldn’t ask around Tim or Sasha about it because then they would bother Jon. Anyway, it’s not like it mattered, Jon said he still wanted to be friends and he should take that at face value.

Martin finished shipping an order when his phone buzzed at him.

 **Tim:** i was sitting here thinkin

 **Tim:** whos place should we do movie night @

 **Tim:** when I realize

 **Tim:** weve never been 2 jons place

 **Sasha:** tim, you wouldn’t have to multi-text if you used proper punctuation. you know that, right?

 **Tim:** Wouldst thou liketh me to talketh like they didst when Joneth wast a youth?

 **Martin:** Tim, I’m begging you to not ever do that again. Even if it means 8 texts in a row while I’m sleeping

 **Jon:** I think I aged 1000 years just reading that mess, thank you, Tim

 **Tim:** dont think u can distract me jon

 **Tim:** when can we movie @ ur place

 **Tim:** u can pick the movie and everything

 **Tim:** plz

 **Jon:** Fine, this Thursday, we’re watching The Hobbit (1977), and one of you is picking Martin up so he isn’t alone with me

 **Martin:** Plot twist, Jon is actually the youngest and saw the Hobbit cartoon as a kid

 **Sasha:** i can take martin he lives on the way to yours

 **Jon:** How do you already know where I live?

 **Sasha:** A lady never tells :)

 **Tim:** its on file @ the institute

 **Jon:** Well for the two of you who aren’t nosy

Jon drops his address into the group chat and then messages Martin directly.

 **Jon:** What kind of food do you like?

 **Martin:** You don’t have to get me anything. I can pick something up on the way

 **Jon:** You are going to be my guest, Martin. The least I can do is give you dinner

 **Jon:** I don’t hear complaining when Sasha or Tim does it

Martin types out “Sasha and Tim let me feed them sometimes, too.” Before promptly deleting it.

 **Martin:** You’re right, sorry. I like curry, as long as it’s not too spicy. I think there might be a place near your address

 **Martin:** Actually, while I have you can I ask you something?

 **Jon:** I don’t see why not

 **Martin:** Did I do something wrong? I know you said the professional thing wasn’t my fault, but you won’t even shake my hand anymore

The little ellipses go up and down for several minutes.

 **Martin:** Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.

 **Jon:** It’s a fair question.

 **Jon:** It has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you. If you annoyed me, I would tell you. I would rather not give you a direct explanation if that’s ok.

 **Martin:** I’ll accept that answer

 **Jon:** Thank you. I apologize for any undue stress I've caused you.

That was...sort of a nonanswer. _No Martin, you don’t bother me. I’m just generally bothered._ That was at least better than no information.

 **Martin:** Another much less serious question: Did you pick The Hobbit because the book is older than Cluedo to throw us off?

 **Jon:** The Hobbit was published before Cluedo?

 **Jon:** How would I know that?

 **Martin:** I can *see* that smirk on your face and I want you to know I both respect your craft and loath it

 **Jon:** I would take the compliment, but I don’t know what you’re talking about

 **Jon:** Maybe the fact that I picked a movie that came out in 1977, based on a book that came out in 1937, has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve never played a board game that came out in 1947.

 **Jon:** It could just be a coincidence

 **Martin:** That’s a lot of 7s

 **Jon:** All part of my plan

Sasha comes to his house after sundown on Thursday to walk him to Jon’s.

“I’ve come to chaperone you,” she says theatrically, offering her arm.

“Ah a brave knight to defend my honor,” Martin replies.

“Wrong era, Martin.”

“Maybe I want to be a handsome prince with a terrifying vampire bodyguard, let me have this.”

“Queen Mary had a vampire bodyguard, you know. Hence all the blood.”

“I find that highly improbable, given the whole...Catholicism thing.”

“I’m not saying I was _there_ , but I hear things.”

“One of these days, I’m going to meet a vampire who was provably at the places you all talk about, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“They’ll tell you I’m right and that Tim is a liar.”

Jon’s flat is cold and Spartan which doesn’t give Martin much to work with as far as uncovering his many hangups. The thing that interests him the most is the bookshelf. It’s also spars with such fascinating titles as _London: A Guide Book_ and _The Complete Plays of Shakespeare_ , but the most worn book on the shelf was _Lost Refrain_ which was far as Martin could tell the only poetry book in Jon’s collection. He is almost tempted to look at which pages are dog-eared when Tim arrives.

“I see you already hid all your Minoan deity status in the bedroom,” he says, patting Jon on the shoulder.

“Are you implying that I’m _from_ Ancient Minoa or that I just have a hoard of topless snake goddesses in my bedroom?” Jon asks, taking a drink from his mug and pulling a face. It hadn’t occurred to Martin that because he was at Jon’s house this early, he would get to watch his “preferred” eating method. Jon’s eyes still went from brown to red but it wasn’t as bright as when he had fed on Martin. His eyes were also pointed very directly away from Martin.

“Well since you said _ancient_ it’s probably the second one,” Tim sighs before giving Martin a quick hug and sprawling on the couch. “Comfy couch, though. Perfect for cuddling if anyone is interested.”

He winks at Martin who rolls his eyes and sits squarely on the floor by the couch. Martin didn’t want to force Jon off of his own couch, after all.

“Martin, here’s your-” Jon begins, “where did Martin go? I have his dinner.”

“I’m down here,” he calls, raising his hand over the couch.

“Yeah, Tim scared him off the couch so I guess he’s getting curry on the floor,” Sasha says.

“You didn’t mention any allergies so I just went with what the menu said was mildest,” Jon says, handing Martin his food with a raised eyebrow.

Once they all settle on the couch, Tim being forced onto one cushion, both he and Sasha between Jon and Martin who was still on the floor, Jon starts the movie. It goes pretty much how Martin remembers it and after his curry is tossed he settles in until he shivers at the temperature of Jon’s flat.

“Do you need a blanket, Martin?” Jon asks, standing bolt upright and heading down the hall before getting an answer. “All I have are my bedsheets, I hope that’s ok.”

“Oh that’s fine, I’ll just make you a blanket for your couch,” Martin replies, snuggling into Jon’s duvet. He pointedly does _not_ think about how it’s the closest to a hug he’ll get from Jon and drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't plan all those sevens.


	6. Jon is obtuse about his dark past and receives many texts from Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has imposter syndrome, none of his friends think he's the monster he thinks he is, and he fails to ghost Martin for more than 24 hours.

Jon realizes his mistake when he hears Martin’s soft snoring under the end credits. As far as he knew Martin’s only experience with vampires had been with ones like Tim, Sasha, and Gerry. Ones who wouldn’t hurt him. So of course he felt safe enough to sleep in Jon’s presence. Tim and Sasha vouched for him because they didn’t know better. No one had told them what he’d done and they thought he was just a polite, if occasionally prickly, person. He had clearly deceived all of them.

“You three shouldn’t come here anymore,” Jon says carefully.

“We can help you move the sta-” Tim begins jovially before Jon cuts him off.

“Tim, I’m serious. Wake up Martin, he needs to hear this as well.”

Sasha nudges Martin awake and he makes a grumpy little huff. He looks up at Jon bleary-eyed with the folds of the blanket impressed into his cheek. Martin climbs up onto the couch with the others and they all wait expectantly. Jon takes a deep breath.

“I’ve killed people. As a vampire. I killed people and I enjoyed it.” Jon speaks carefully so there’s no chance of them misunderstanding him. “I don’t know why I thought _feeding_ from anyone, let alone Martin, would be a good idea. I suppose I was foolish enough to hope I wasn’t a monster. I’m so, so sorry for deceiving all of you into believing I’m a decent person. Especially, you, Martin, you put yourself in a dangerous position with me unwittingly.”

The room is silent for an endless moment before Sasha speaks up.

“Did you deceive Mrs. Robinson, too?” She asks. “She wouldn’t have let you join the Institute if she thought you were a monster and she _certainly_ wouldn’t have let you use the Reading Rooms.”

“I haven’t killed anyone in some time and she…” Jon sighs. “She expects me to be on my best behavior or she wouldn’t have been so keen to put me in the Archives.”

“Jon whatever happened in your past, we can work through it,” Tim says, rising slowly to wrap his arms around Jon.

“You don’t understand,” Jon insists, squirming away. “We shouldn’t be friends because I’ll only drag you down to my level. Martin, you can’t be near me. I’m not lying, I was an evil person.”

“I think the keyword here is _was_ ,” Martin says, standing like he wants to hug Jon but he doesn’t reach out. “You are intensely worried about my well being, you made up excuses to check on me more, and you keep me at a distance _because you don’t want to hurt me._ I don’t know anything about your past but present you is clearly not a monster.”

Jon feels his eyes welling up with tears. He had expected recrimination and screaming and bundling Martin as far away from his as possible. Instead Sasha had a gentle hand on his elbow, Tim was still geared up to pull him back into a hug, and Martin was looking at him with such kind, understanding eyes he couldn’t take it.

“Just leave,” Jon says with no force behind it. “Please.”

They do. Martin thanks him and promises to text when he gets home. Tim and Sasha wave to him sadly. As soon as the door shuts he bundles himself into his duvet that smells like yarn and tea and wonderful man Jon was _never_ going to hurt, and he cries himself to sleep.

The next day he heats the old blood in the microwave, grimaces it down, and walks to the Archives as quickly as possible to avoid his coworkers. His phone started buzzing at around 10PM.

 **Martin:** I know you probably want me to cut all contact with you because you’re a “monster.” But I was thinking and I wanted to ask you something

 **Martin:** It’s going to sound really patronizing so you can 100% ignore it but I wanted to ask. Your know your nightmare was a bad dream, right? It’s just what you fear, it’s not proof of some dark desires you have.

 **Martin:** Jon you have read receipts on so I know you’re reading this. I did say you didn’t have to answer though, didn’t I?

 **Martin:** I still don’t understand any of what you said last night. I know what you *said* but Sasha is right, I’ve seen the contracts to get into the Reading Rooms and there’s *no way* they would let you in if you were some kind of uncontrollable monster.

 **Martin:** I’ve never met Mrs. Robinson but I’ve heard that she picks evil vampires out of her teeth. So whatever she considers you best behavior must count for something, right?

 **Martin:** I’m still making you that blanket, by the way. Do you have a color(s) preference?

 **Martin:** I can always ask Tim or Sasha for ideas

Jon waits until he gets home in the early morning when Martin is surely asleep to respond.

 **Jon:** Firstly I would like to emphasize that none of my poor behavior is in any way your fault or indicative that you are easily deceived. I do not believe you are naive.

 **Jon:** With that out of the way, yes I’m aware of how nightmares typically work, Martin.

 **Jon:** It didn’t tell me what I secretly wanted to do. It reminded me of what I would eventually do. I would lose control and kill you and your spark would be gone from the world. I won’t let that happen.

 **Jon:** Whatever terrifying rumors you have heard about Mrs. Robinson are probably understatements. She keeps me around because she trusts me to keep my bloodlust in check. Which I do by utilizing the Blood Bank

 **Jon:** You're right, going forward it would be best for you to avoid all contact with me and if you insist on making a blanket please give it to someone who deserves it.

 **Jon:** Gerry said the scarf you made him is his favorite and I’m sure Tim or Sasha would appreciate one as well

 **Jon:** Take care of yourself, Martin


	7. Martin makes a blanket, receives an upsetting phone call, and has a lovely chat with Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Martin's turn to have angst and Jon continues to be awful at ghosting ft mentions of another character who is alive because I said so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin's getting news from the care home so you know his mother makes a brief appearance to be awful.

The first blanket Martin ever made was for his mother. He had taken up knitting as a hobby to relieve stress at the recommendation of a coworker back when he worked retail. He knitted it out of one of her favorite colors for Mother’s Day on one of the spare few times he had been allowed to visit her.

“It’s not very good, is it?” She had said. “The other people here have gotten lovely gifts from their grandchildren, but I suppose I can’t expect that from _you.”_

He didn’t know why he bothered. Nothing he did was good enough before, a pink blanket wouldn’t change that.

The next time he came, several months later, a woman there named Mrs. Fletcher had been bundled up in his mother’s blanket. He asked her where she got it.

“Isn’t it lovely?” She had replied. “Someone was just throwing it out and I thought ‘no sense in wasting a good blanket.’ The work seems pretty beginner but I think whoever made it has promise.”

His mother didn’t want to see him that day, so he spent the day talking to Mrs. Fletcher about knitting. He could tell she was lonely. Apparently, her only son lived in New Zeland and could only make the trip to see her once a year on her birthday. The timezones made it difficult to talk so she was glad of Martin’s company. It had actually been her that gave him the idea to start selling his knitting, but she never found out he had made her favorite blanket.

He didn’t mention to his mother that he knew she threw it out, either.

He thought about Mrs. Fletcher a lot when he made blankets. Especially when he was making them for people he cared about. He chose a nice forest green for Jon’s blanket because it would bring a lovely pop of color into his flat. He still didn’t have a full plan on how he was going to give it to him, anyway.

Game nights had slowly become “How Do We Get Jon to Just Fucking Talk to One of Us (and/or a Therapist)” nights, so he could probably get one of his friends to sneak it into Jon’s office. Sasha had been trying to look into Jon’s past in hopes of getting a better idea of where he was coming from and getting next to nothing. Officially, Jon had joined the Institute in 1950 and worked in Artefact Storage (away from the mortal populace, a lot of the stuff down there is dangerous) until 2002 when he transferred to the Archives. Tim had asked around, but the few vampires who knew him met him after 1950 and mostly felt the Jon was just a “harmless asshole with some major hang-ups with live feeding.” One woman in particular had been surprised that Jon had drunk from anyone, apparently, she and Jon had had an all-out screaming match over live feeding, even from a willing participant. No one Martin had spoken to had any idea about pre-1950 Jon, either. Although he had only spoken to a few people in the library and one of the people who came into the Reading Room for him. None of the information gathering had even got him an idea of Jon’s favorite color.

“No, it was actually in his file right next to his favorite shape,” Sasha said when he asked.

“I don’t think “Martin” is a color, Sash,” Tim teased, winking at Martin’s blush.

“Please don’t, Tim,” Martin warned.

“Is this not Operation: Get Jon Therapy So He and Martin Can Hold Hands?”

“You know he doesn’t like me like that,” Martin said and Tim and Sasha shared a look.

Now he had been spending the better part of a Monday evening knitting a blanket and listening to podcasts. It’s with 90% of Jon’s blanket done that his phone rings. A call from the care facility his mother lived in.

“Hello, is this Martin Blackwood?” Came the somber voice on the other end.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“My name is Anthony Moriss, I believe we have spoken before. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but your mother has passed away.”

“Oh,” Martin says, his tongue suddenly too thick for his mouth. “Do you need me to come down?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Blackwood. Arrangements have already been made with the local funeral home for her body and the local women’s shelter for her belongings. She didn’t want you to worry about it, it seems.”

“Good old mum, always looking out for me,” Martin tries not to sound bitter. _Of course she didn’t trust me to make arrangements. Of course she didn’t want me touching her clothes._ “Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Moriss. I assume the final bill will be around soon.”

“I- yes,” Mr. Moriss replies. “Allow me to extend our deepest sympathies from Wooden Glade Care Home. Goodbye."

“Thanks, have a good one.”

As soon as Martin hangs up he calls Jon. He doesn’t know why. He certainly doesn’t expect him to actually answer.

“Martin? Is everything all right?” Jon asks frantically.

“My mum’s dead,” Martin whispers into the phone around the lump in his throat.

“Martin, this is Jon, am I who you meant to call?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t come over to comfort you.”

“I know.”

“Okay, tell me what you want me to do.”

Martin starts to cry.

“I-I don’t know. Jus-t talk to me? I don’t...I don’t want to feel alone.”

“We’re all at the Archives right now, should I send Tim and Sasha? Sorry, you called me for a reason. You aren’t alone, Martin.” 

Martin makes another hiccupy noise.

“I...uh… didn’t expect you to pick up.”

“I thought you were in danger.”

“O-oh, sorry to’ve worried you.”

“It’s ok Martin. You can cry it out and I can talk. Make you feel less alone. Is that what you want?”

“Y-you don’t have to.”

Jon makes a familiarly exasperated noise.

“I’m _going_ to unless you hang up on me. Let yourself be taken care of.”

There went the flood gates. Martin couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of him unreservedly. Sasha and Tim were his friends, even if they weren’t feeding on him, they checked on him and walked him home late at night; both had shown interests in his passions, but Jon was something else because Martin wasn’t doing anything. In fact, Martin had called Jon, who asked not to be contacted, at work.

He couldn’t articulate any of this to Jon between sobs.

“I suppose I’ll be doing most of the talking then. Ok has anyone ever told you what happened when I met Tim’s brother?”

Martin makes a noise in the negative.

“I’d like to preface that I absolutely did not know Tim had a brother before this. I walked into the Archives about 6 or so years ago and I see Tim. Well, someone I think is Tim, but he’s early for whatever reason. So I hand him a few statements to follow up on and go to my office. Completely unaware that I told a stranger to look into the rumors of worm people hiding in the underground. Tim, actual Tim, comes in about half an hour later and asks if I’d seen his brother. I told him hadn’t left my office since I gave him the reports.

‘What reports, boss?’ he asks me.

I ask him why he changed his shirt at which point he _loses it_ , but doesn’t explain anything to me so I assume it’s one of his "hilarious pranks" and forget about it for a few hours. Until Danny Stoker, who only really looks like Tim from the side and if you’re in a hurry, comes in with a glove _full_ of gag worms. I don’t even look up when he hands it to me and I take what feels like a hand that is _slowly spilling rubber worms all over my desk_. I screamed and it’s the first time either Tim or Sasha ever heard me say, ‘fuck.’

Danny still comes in with gag worms whenever he visits Tim.”

Jon chuckles and Martin can’t help laughing a little along with him. He feels a little better and that makes him feel guilty. He should miss his mother, shouldn’t he? Even if she didn’t care much for him.

“Jon, am I a bad person for being glad she’s gone?”

“I’m hardly qualified to answer that, Martin,” Jon scoffs and the line goes quiet for a long moment. “Speaking as someone who is legally dead, though. If the dead don’t want ill spoken of them, then they should have been better living.”

“I miss you, legally dead man,” Martin says softly.

“Martin I...get some rest for me, ok?”

“Ok, thank you for this, bye.”

“Goodbye, Martin.”


	8. Jon gets some advice and gives some backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is politely reminded that communication is key, tells everyone why he's Like That, and gets the love and support he deserves. ft a soft blanket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's backstory is here, Jonah is a bastard across AUs (as in this is another M chapter)

The phone call had left Jon with too much to think about on his own. Martin needed comfort and somehow _he_ was the first person he thought of. It made him feel...something. Good to be a source of comfort, definitely, but _terrified_ because he shouldn’t be for Martin. It was agony hearing him sob across the phone line but he couldn’t hold him. The only person at the Institute who knew what he was, his past and his failures, was Gertrude Robinson herself.

Jon never felt comfortable in the office of the Head of the Robinson Institute. The wallpaper, carpet, and furniture had all been changed, the portrait of a monster had been replaced with one of a good man, older than Jon remembered him, but just as solemn.

“What do you need, Jonathan?” Gertrude Robinson had been turned later in life and as Jon understood it often used the sweet old lady appearance to her advantage.

“I was hoping for some advice Mrs. Robinson,” Jon says.

“You’re still uneasy about live feedings, I take it,” she replies, her eyes boring into Jon.

“It’s not just that,” Jon answers hesitantly. “There’s a human-”

“I’m not going to give you romantic advice, Jonathan. Your friend Timothy is more appt for that, isn’t he?”

“It’s not that. I’m just afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“Have you been feeding frequently?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you aren’t a risk to him.”

“How can you say that, Mrs. Robinson? You know what I’ve done.”

Mrs. Robinson sighs heavily and gestures to the portrait.

“Do you know why Addelard didn’t kill you?” She asks. “It’s not because he couldn’t find you. It took him less than a week to find the lone idiot in Siberia living out of a coffin and eating moose blood popsicles.”

“Did he expect me to die of my own stupidity?”

“No, _I_ expected that. He said you had the right to mercy. Adelard didn’t think you were an evil man, nor do I. I would have killed you if I thought you were an uncontrollable monster.”

“No one else believes I am, either,” he admits sheepishly. “Even after I told them what I’d done.”

“Did you tell them everything? Or just what you hoped would prove your monstrousness.”

“Should I tell them everything?”

“It’s your past and your friends, Jonathan.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Robinson. I’ll try.”

“Is that all? I am a very busy woman,” she says, re-awakening her computer.

“Yes, have a good night.”

Gertrude makes a noise in affirmative.

She was right, he couldn’t expect them to make their opinions about him correctly if they didn’t hear the whole truth. He takes a nervous breath and texts his friends.

 **Jon:** I have recently been made aware that I haven’t been perfectly open about myself, my nature, or my past with any of you and I would like to open an offer for you all to come to my flat (or somewhere else if you aren’t comfortable there) and be made aware of those things in greater detail.

 **Sasha:** we’ve finally unlocked your secret back story?

 **Jon:** Sure, is my flat tomorrow night acceptable?

 **Tim:** Sounds like a plan, bossman

 **Martin:** Perfect, I can bring your blanket.

Jon couldn’t sleep the next day. He kept going over what he was going to say, what he would _have_ to say. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, but if they knew they would understand why they shouldn’t want to be near him. He doesn’t know what he would do if they still wanted to be his friends.

They all arrive at the same time, possibly on purpose. Tim and Sasha both offer hugs, which he declines, and Martin gives him a beautiful blanket, which he can’t say no to. The three of them sit on Jon’s couch again.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning,” he sighs. “Are any of you familiar with the original founding of the Institute? Before it was the Robinson Institute it was the Magnus Institute. There were 5 of us at the start, Robert Smirke, Barnabas Bennet, Mordechai Lukas, Albrecht Van Closen, myself, and our founder, Jonah Magnus. He was a charismatic man and we all loved him. We set out, originally, to explore and understand the preternatural, so we could better arm humanity from its evils. It was ambitious, but so were we.

I don’t know when Jonah became a vampire. He took enough trips outside of London to investigate claims of varying validity that it could have been any point in 1823 when he started spending very little time outside and only at night. In August of that year, he invited us to a dinner party. It was the usual intimate affair. I believe I spent most of the night discussing the difference between a ghost and a poltergeist with Barnabus. Towards the end of the night, when we were all in his sitting-room he made us each an offer. He promised us immortality. The power to keep ‘fighting the good fight’ as it were for centuries. All we had to do was drink his blood.

Robert was livid. The prospect of becoming one of the things we wanted to protect humanity from was so abhorrent to him that he stormed off, advising us all to cut ties with Jonah, and I, being the _kind friend_ that I was, comforted Jonah. I should have listened to Robert. He played all upset that one of his most trusted friends would cut all ties like that and I felt such great pity that I agreed to vampirism without much thought. Barnabus and Mordechai agreed readily enough as well.

As for Albrecht, while the prospect interested him, his nephew had been recently orphaned at the time and he preferred to remain human until the boy grew up. It was an understandable desire and we bid him a good night. He remained in contact with us up until his death. Jonah had me be the one to convince his wife that we be given all of his arcane tombs for further research. I read the autopsy, his body had mutated inhumanly before his death and I wonder if Jonah looked at it and thought _what would happen if a vampire read this._ I wonder if once he got bored of me, he would have had me read them.

Gerry in the Blood Bank is his descendant, I believe, his eyes are very distinct. He doesn’t know about my relationship with Albrecht, they don’t exactly make cards for “Sorry I Was Complicit in the Death of One of Your Ancestors.” But I digress.

Once the agreement had been reached, Jonah opened a vein in his wrist and poured his blood into a glass for each of us. I should have asked more questions or for more time to decide. He told us all we had to do was drink his blood, and you all know that’s a lie. I polished off my glass and Jonah Magnus, one of my most intimate friends, shot me in the heart.

When I woke up I was starving and furious at Jonah. He told me I could have asked more questions. “You’re usually so curious, Jonathan.” He gave me someone to… He told me that vampires fed on the fear born when a person knows they are dying. That’s why feeding on someone makes them pliant, so by the time they want to fight back they can’t. I fucking believed him. I let him make me think I needed so much blood.

I convinced myself that it would be ok, as long as whomever I fed from was cruel or evil. I even tried to enjoy it. Pin a man down and drink him dry. Convince myself I did it to stop him beating his children. Over and over. Jonah must have known we didn’t need to feed like that, but he didn’t care.

The thing about overfeeding that Jonah enjoyed the most was the power. Every vampiric power you have is amplified. That much power is draining, of course, making it more likely to need to feed that much. Something similar can be achieved by someone who feeds daily in the Reading Room, which is Mrs. Robinson and her hunters’ approach. I didn’t know that. I could compel people to tell me things, anything at all, so long as I asked. It was how I did most of my work with Jonah, pressing a person for answers until words flowed like water and they only knew fear of me. It was important that we be able to sort out the truth, so we could categorize things properly.

He also had me help him kidnap people. “For the greater good,” he said. People he told me, because was foolish enough to believe him, had been dabbling in dark things to hurt people. As if that wasn’t what he was doing. Or were themselves some new kind of monster for him to study. He was provably right about them enough times that I believed him without evidence on the times there wasn’t any.

I should have seen him for what he was when Barnabas died. He was the one Jonah loved most and yet _I_ was the one who had to collect the bones from Mordechai. I’m the only one who wept for Barnabas, I think. Mordechai had drifted away from us slowly but I didn’t want to believe he had killed Barnabas. I didn’t see the letter he wrote to Jonah, beseeching his help. I don’t know why he didn’t write me, probably for the same reason it took me so long to see Jonah for what he was. Believing that Jonah had affection for anyone but himself.

I finally saw how he had been deceiving me in _1881_. I had spent over fifty years murdering, kidnapping, and torturing people because I believed he was a good man with good intentions who wouldn’t lead me astray.

It had been a long week. Jonah had been holed up all week with his newest toy. A man by the name of Webster who lured people into his home in a very...unique way. I had seen the bodies bound up in webbing myself. So I was busy deciphering the nature of a cursed piano that screamed if it didn’t like what was being played. So busy, in fact, that I had forgone feeding for too long, a habit I had picked up when I was human and didn’t maul someone for a sandwich, and I went out on the hunt.

Often I could just listen for who was putting their spouse or child’s hand on the lit stove or who was drunkenly yelling epithets at passing immigrants. Sometimes I would ask a madame to point me in the direction of an especially rude john. I told myself they deserved it. That I wanted their fear. That I was right to punish them for their sins. I was so arrogant.

On that particular night I heard a man, a child really, he couldn’t have been more than 17 or 18, yelling about his missing sister. He had a poster and everything. I recognized the woman in the picture. I recognized her because Jonah told me she was a siren, dragging people down into the Thames, and I helped him capture her. I didn’t believe the boy. I _couldn’t_. I was tired and hungry and I cornered him. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe she was adopted and had hidden her nature.

I didn’t just ask, I _compelled_ him to tell me about her. How the two of them had recently been orphaned. How _because of me_ he was left without family. I got angry with him and tried to argue with what he’d said. Jonah had lied to me. She wasn’t a siren. He just needed her to read some awful book or play with some awful mirror and he assumed she wouldn’t be missed.

I told you before, how using one’s powers makes you starving, and I was already so hungry. I...I don’t know what happened. One moment I was screaming at him and the next he was beating against me, begging for his life, for mercy and _I couldn’t stop_ no matter how badly I wanted to. He was a _child_ and I tore his life from him. I couldn’t be a vampire anymore, because I saw myself for what I really was: a monster.

There was a vampire hunter living in London at the time by the name of Adelard Dekker. I knew where he lived because I had hoped to one day convince him of our “just” cause. I just couldn’t work up the courage. Until I pounded on his door, glutted on innocent blood, demanding death as my reward.

I don’t know how long I stood there at his threshold waiting for him or the sun to claim me, but I was eventually dragged inside and thrown into a cage in the basement.

Gertrude and Adelard argued about what to do with me. Gertrude was the one who thought I could be useful and give them information about the Magnus Institute. She was the first vampire I had met outside of Jonah’s acquaintance, so I didn’t trust her. She was the same as me, draining people dry to feed her immortality, whatever her justification. That’s when I found out I didn’t have to and I...I believed her. Jonah had lied to me and he omitted crucial information and he _lied._ I told them whatever they needed to know. I didn’t want to leave. I was still so certain I would lose control again. But they needed information, so they fed me a stray dog and sent me on my way.

I had been gone for _three nights_ and he didn’t even notice. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to call him out on all of his bullshit, but I had a mission. Gather blueprints and manifests of the more dangerous things in the Institute’s possession. I liked to think that he didn’t notice my suspicious behavior because he trusted me implicitly but the truth is he didn’t care what I was doing.

I helped plan and execute the siege on the Magnus Institute in the coming weeks. It had become a stock-pile of dangerous artifacts that shouldn’t be in someone like Magnus’ hands. Smirke hadn’t designed the Institute to be prepared for a siege and there were still humans who worked there mostly during the day and early evenings. Jonah would notice if I gave everyone the day off so we had to plan the siege for the early morning. I say siege but it was just the three of us. The most dangerous part was Jonah’s power. He could...know things. His prying eyes could just peak into the deepest corners of the world if he could concentrate hard enough.

It was decided, reasonably, that I would distract Jonah while Mrs. Robinson and Adelard went about undoing the sigils meant to protect Jonah. He and I talked like the old friends I believed we were for _hours_ until he heard their footsteps coming up the stairs to his office. His smug face fell when he realized he was no longer safe under sigils.

“Jonathan, you fucking idiot who did you let into my institute?”

Not “our” institute, his. That was the last straw his prying eyes held fear when he realized _I_ was the greatest threat in the room.

I tore him apart. I sunk my nails into his eyes and I snapped his skull apart. I ripped into his chest until he lay motionless on the floor of his office and Adelard and Mrs. Robinson were standing over me.

I expected them to kill me. I had served their purposes and _surely_ couldn’t be allowed to live. But I was so scared. I ran away. Jonah had us sleeping in coffins so I took mine, snuck onto a ship bound across the channel. I chased rats around the ship like a cat until we reached Europe, then I took my coffin into the northern parts of Siberia. I hid from the sun and humanity for 73 years, sustaining myself on slushy animal blood.

Adelard found me after the first week, Mrs. Robinson told me, and he spared me. I think he saw it as my time to wander the wilderness.

Mrs. Robinson convinced me to come back to _her_ institute in 1950. She felt I was someone who truly understood the delicate and important nature of her work. I missed interpersonal contact so deeply I didn’t think about what moving back to London would mean for me when I said yes.

The culture shock was something else. I hadn’t been home in nearly a century. Over two world wars and an industrial revolution. Mrs. Robinson had expanded the Institute over time. She gave me a tour of the place and showed me the Blood Bank. I almost wept when I saw it. Animal blood sustains but it’s _disgusting._ Human blood from a consenting source is wonderful, despite the taste of the anticoagulant. The Reading Rooms were a different story. I think I’m the first person in the whole of time to yell at Gertrude Robinson. I imagined some awful dark room where someone was compelled or convinced to give up their blood. Too high from feeding to care. Of course she understood my concerns, given my past, so she showed me the security cameras, the guards, and the contracts. I read them over several times. No one was being tricked and everyone was safe.

I still chose to integrate into vampire society before having any human interaction. I lived in the Institute until 1983, because I felt I could trust myself to interact with them on a surface level. Commuting went well. As did most of my experience with my neighbors, all told.

Mrs. Robinson had me move from artifact storage into the archive in 2002 with Sasha and Tim. I convinced myself I was like you two. A vampire with self-control and a moral compass. I was so convinced I decided to try the Reading Rooms.

I met Martin and...I was afraid I would hurt him, so I went back to old blood only. We all got more friendly together and I don’t deserve your friendship. I want you to know that you’re better off.”

There’s a long pause when Jon finishes. Sasha stands up first and pulls him into a hug. Martin comes over with the blanket and Tim wraps it and his arms around Jon.

“Jon,” Martin says softly. “None of that makes you a monster.”

He loses it. He’s pretty sure Tim and Sasha are the only things keeping him from the floor as his body is wracked with sobs.

“You’re not alone Jon,” Martin soothes.

Jon sobs and shakes for a long time. He’s rocked between Sasha and Tim while Martin says soft, gentle things. Eventually his sobs get weaker and he’s steered to the couch.

“I-I did-’t think you would w-ant to stay,” Jon hiccups.

“You’re stuck with us of eternity, get over it,” Tim teases.

Martin has his hand outstretched for Jon to take. Jon knows Martin trusts him. He also knows he’s full of old blood and caged in Sasha and Tim’s arms, so he reaches out and takes Martin’s hand.


	9. Martin gets a hug, a letter, and a boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post a little time skip where Jon and Martin talk to professionals: Sasha dishes more hot goss of questionable credibility, Martin gets to finally hug all of his friends, gets a sappy letter from Jon, and Jon has some normal boundaries to set.

The thing about having a friend get therapy is that they start to recommend therapy to everyone else. Which Martin will admit is a good thing. He started seeing his therapist a month after Jon started therapy. It really shouldn’t surprise Martin that there are vampire therapists who specialize in trauma specific to vampires, and Jon was so much happier for it. He was shaking Martin’s hand in greeting again and was willing to sit on the same couch if someone was between them. His own therapist was helping him realize maybe his friends didn’t just like him for what he can do for them. It was nice.

The four of them were sitting on the couch listening to Sasha try to convince them that Alexander the Great had such a sweet tooth Hephaestion once threatened to personally kick a honey bee’s ass in drunken jealousy.

“You’re absolutely making that up,” Martin laughs.

“No, it’s totally true,” she replies, holding her right hand over her heart.

“Were you there?” Tim asks incredulously.

“I can neither confirm nor deny my presence in Macedonia at the time,” Sasha says.

“What time would this be?” Jon questions.

“I don’t remember.”

“If you don’t remember, does that mean you _were_ there?” Martin asks, a little smugly.

“Marto’s going galaxy brained tonight,” Tim yells, throwing his harms up like his team just scored a point.

They laugh and talk until Martin feels himself start to drift off.

“Martin, are you getting tired?” Jon asks gently, putting a hand on his knee.

“Yeah, probably time for you guys to head out.”

Tim and Sasha hug him goodbye at the door and Jon pauses.

“Can I...would it be ok if I hugged you?” Jon asks nervously, avoiding Martin’s gaze.

“Yeah, c’mere,” he replies, opening his arms. It’s a quick hug, much quicker than Martin would like but it’s nice. Sasha gives him a knowing look.

The letter arrives a day later. It’s sealed with wax and it smells faintly flowery. It was from Jon.

My dearest Martin,

You’ll forgive me behaving like an “old, old man” as Tim would call me but I’ve been thinking over the nature of our relationship and I believe this is the best way for me to properly express myself.

In the past year that I’ve known you, I have been happier than I’ve ever been. I know that that's not due solely to yourself but trust that it is a large part of it. You make me happy, Martin. I think I make you happy, too. What I’m trying to say is I have romantic feelings for you. That’s not really enough, is it? To express the full breadth and depth of my feelings for you would require a thousand letters in a thousand languages and even then I fear they would fall flat. You’re the poet. The only poet I like, actually. The way you use words touches my heart in a way I can only hope my prose touches yours. You’re stubborn and clever and funny and understanding and so many other things I long to discover if you let me.

I completely understand if my feelings are not reciprocated and want you to understand that it is by no means my intention to make you uncomfortable in any way. Simply tell me and we shall never speak of it again.

If they are reciprocated, as I so ardently hope, then I need you to understand the nature of our courtship will have to be extremely old fashioned. Until you become a vampire (something I believe you should bring up with the others as I am not emotionally equipped to be the one to turn you) our dates with have to be chaperoned and physical affection kept at a minimum. This would be solely for my peace of mind, as I’m sure you know.

All my heart,

Jonathan Sims

P.S. You don’t have to write me a letter back, you can just call me. I just didn’t think it would be totally appropriate to confess my feelings to you in front of our friends and I was feeling a little nostalgic for letter writing.

Martin looks at his phone 9:53 AM. Yeah, he’s not calling Jon while he’s asleep.

 _Martin:_ I can’t believe you wrote me a letter to confess. That’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me. I absolutely reciprocate. I’m just not going to call you in the middle of the day when you’re ASLEEP

His phone starts ringing as soon as he hits ‘send.’

“Don’t worry I couldn't sleep until I got an answer from you, anyway,” Jon says giddily.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Martin sighs in mock-exaggeration.

“So you...really want to try dating?”

“Yes, Jon. I very much would like to try dating. On the condition that Tim is _never_ allowed to chaperone.”

“How about this, since I’m the one who needs the chaperone, you get to pick them. Sound fair?”

“I suppose.”

“There’s one more thing you should know. Even when you become a vampire, sex won’t be on the table. It’s not because of some puritanical shame about it or anything bad that happened to me, I just...don’t want sex.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Honestly that’s the most normal part of our relationship.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, plenty of normal, human couples with little to no trauma are totally happy not having sex.”

“Good to know we have one normal thing. It’s going to be awkward when people ask how we met isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, ‘well you see, I was his lunch once.’”

“You _are_ a snack.”

“No, bad, no, you can’t use modern slang. It sounds weird coming out of your mouth.”

“El-oh-el I should probably be going to bed now. Text me and we can set up a date, yeah?”

“Sounds good, sleep well.”

“Thank you, talk to you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, the final chapter's done. Jon and Martin are in a loving relationship AND they're getting therapy.
> 
> Thank you for reading
> 
> I'm @leighistired on Tumblr. Come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> POV will change between chapters but I'll try to keep that obvious in my titles


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